Where's Abby?
by OutofBreath223
Summary: Small town girl, Abby, wakes up to a room she doesn't recognize, a broadcast claiming her a missing person and a possible serial killer sitting just a few feet away. And this is just r and r to what she's just been thrown into. (Update expected once or twice a week)
1. Chapter 1

I feel funny. My head feels light. My body feels heavy. Did I eat sand? My mouth feels gritty and dry. I want water. My back's tingling. It feels like there are thousands of bubbles popping beneath my skin. I want to roll over; I've been lying still too long. But why have I been laying still? Why am I lying down? I thought I was working. I was working at the motel. I try prying the memories free, but everything's a distorted mess. I know, though, I was working. Or, maybe I had worked? Well, wait, yes, I had worked, the night was over. We filled up. I had left. But, no, I hadn't left. I saw someone. I was talking to someone.

I open my eyes to a gray scene. Everything was gray. The ceiling was gray, the walls were gray. I don't know this place. This isn't the motel, this isn't home. Where am I? I look closer, there are holes and cracks and textures. It's cement. Was I in jail? What did I do to land myself in a cell? I try to break this dizzy spell, push it from my mind to focus. I gain a little leeway; my thoughts are becoming clearer little by little. I hadn't done anything wrong. Something else is going on here or there must have been a mistake. I have to remember what's going on.

There's noise in the background as colorful lights flicker against the wall. The noise is fuzzy but its message I hear clearly. My head rolls quickly to the sound as my heart stumbles. There's a small television sitting on a blue milk crate against a cement wall. The news channel is on with important breaking news. Its broadcast is only a sliver of what bothers me.

There, sitting on a metal chair just outside my cement room, is a man in dark clothes. A man I don't know.

"…a report of a missing young girl, Abigail Wendover, about sixteen years old, last seen in front of The Whisper Inn…" The reporter's voice fell lost against the sound of my pulse pounding in my ear.


	2. Chapter One Part One

"..No link to the recent, local string of abduction murder cases has been confirmed as of yet, but authorities are not leaving aside the coincidence..." The newscaster continued to disclose the general information of his broadcast. Every word was another pound to the weight of fear pressing on my chest. I can't breathe under this pressure, I can't face these facts. My mind is still heavily fuzzy, I don't know if I could even process all of this. My mind is spinning.

_String of abduction murder cases…_The newscaster's words echo in my mind. My heart beats with a jolt at every word. _String of abduction murder cases…abduction murder cases…_My lungs strain, it's hard to breathe…_abduction murder cases…_The walls feel too close. It's too tight in here. The air feels too heavy. I can't breathe…_abduction murder…_I can't breathe_…abduction….murder…._I think I'm going to scream.

Air draws into my lungs quick like a whip, but even quicker my hand clamps over my mouth.

_No, stop, think Abby, think!_ I tell myself. I need to calm down. I need to focus. I close my eyes shut. My hand trembles on my lips. This is all so much. I don't know what to do. I need to get out, get away, but what if I can't? What if I am the next victim? What if I end up the next dead body? A hot tear slips down my cheek. _No, don't think about that…Just breath…_I take a deep breath in. My hand slips slowly from my mouth. I take another deep breath, fighting my vivid imagination as it defines gravestones and holes six foot deep. _You can do this..._Another deep breath_. Just stay calm..._

But, how do you stay calm with a possible serial killer a few feet away?

I look over to the man. He's the only one I see here. I hope he's the only one. He's dressed in dark clothes and is sitting in a metal folding chair, slouched back facing the TV. I swallow, trying to be quieter. He could be awake, watching the broadcast. I don't want him to hear me; I don't want to know what he'd do if he found me awake. Flashes of dirty knives and smoking guns streak naked across my thoughts; _breathe, Abby. Breathe…_

He snorts and jerks, glass taps the floor. I freeze, holding my breath, wishing I could turn invisible. He's loud, his gurgled breath echoes against the walls. Please don't see me. His shoulders hop about while his chest convulses. Then slowly he exhales and his body calms, slouching back against the wall. His breaths become louder, thicker. I exhale as quiet as I can. Waiting, watching. Is he awake or is he asleep? Glass taps the floor twice. I follow his arm to find a whiskey bottle, three-fourths gone. He's drunk. He'd gone and wasted himself asleep.

Slowly, quietly, I turn over. My mind spins through a dizzy spell; the edges of my vision fade to black and back again. Why can't I just wake up? My back aches and my neck's sore. And no wonder. I'd been lying on a flat stretch cot for who knows how long. Snorting breaks the quiet, snatching my heart out of my chest. I freeze, staring at the man, waiting for him to catch me. A long minute passes. His body relaxes and his breaths return, slow and thick. I take a deep breath.

My toes touch the cold concrete floor, I almost pull them back. Where had my shoes gone? I look around, there's nothing but the cot in this room. I look out past the man. I see the TV, the milk crate, and – aha! My brown flats with the worn out ruffles lay on the floor next to the makeshift TV stand. And just atop the TV, my purse lay there like an ounce of hope. My cell phone could still be in there. I could call for help!

My heart leaps as I almost leap to my feet. I could get help; I could get out of here! The man snores suddenly, bringing me back to the realty of my situation. My small smile fades. I have to get to it first.

I look between the man and the TV. He wasn't sitting too far from it; the area was as small as a hallway. I have to get past him to get to my purse. If I'm quiet, maybe he won't catch me.

Heart threatening to beat out of my chest, my breath caught in my throat, I move to get on my feet. It's more difficult than I had planned. I'm still off center. The world tips when I stand up and I see black as if I stood up too quickly. I may have. The world slowly comes back to view as I try to work my legs. They feel as heavy as lead and work just as terrible for the job I need done. They wobble like they won't hold, but I don't want to miss this chance, I may not have long. It takes a lot of my concentration to stay balanced, I have to follow the wall and use it to keep straight. My right foot seems to think it's a left foot and my left foot wants to play chicken with the wall. Can I do this? Will he hear me? The more I breathe, the more I move, the quicker my body is waking up, but still, it's taking sweet time. Finally I come to the wall behind the man. I pause here, listening to his breathing. It's slow, steady and thick. He's still asleep. I pray he would stay that way. I swallow and take a couple deep breaths. Fear sends needles through my veins. _Breathe Abby…_ I have to get to my cell phone. I have to get help. I have to get home.

Taking a deep breath in, slowly, ever carefully I look around the wall. There he is, the man that kidnapped me. His face was only inches from mine. I can't see him very well in the poor lighting, the smell of whisky and BO almost throw me back. Suddenly his shoulders hop and his mouth slops about with a gurgling choking sound escaping from deep in his throat. I froze. This could be it. What do I do? He's for sure going to wake up this time. My brain falls silent, lost in stress and the plaguing dizzy spell. I stand there, stuck like a deer lost in headlights, inches from this man's grasp with nothing but empty fear. The world takes a long standstill. The seconds pass by, minutes, an eternity. Then, like a blessing, his breathing returns to pace and his eyes stay shut. He stays asleep. I let out a quiet sigh of relief, letting the oxygen kick my mind back into gear. Carefully I slip back around the wall. My eyes close as I tremble. The fear quakes through me.

_You can do this. He won't wake up. You can do this._ I peek around the wall to where my purse sat. _It's just a few feet away, you can do this._ Cautiously I slip around the wall, reaching and leaning my wobbly self towards the opposite wall of the threshold. There still isn't much room, but I can keep a few inches between me at least. I brace against the wall, not taking my eyes off the man. My heart beats so hard in my chest I'm scared it will burst, but I am more terrified he'd stop it first. Inch by tiny inch I move pressed against the wall as tight as I can. His legs were wide spread, getting around his knee is slow and torturous. The time seems to tick by; his breaths become the clock and with each exhale a countdown. The only catch, I don't know how long I have. At any breath he could wake up. At any breath could be my last.

My shin connects with something sharp and hard. The lights and colors dance about. There's clunking as the small TV wobbles and threatens to topple. My purse jingles and slides. I reach out quick to catch my purse and settle the TV with a stopped heart and hitched breath. The channel turns to static. I'm too scared to move anymore. The man shifts in his sleep, once to the left. Then to the right. This is it.

I want to close my eyes, but they refuse to shut. I'm forced to endure and watch as he shuffles about in indecision. I don't know what to do. I feel lost, blank minded, helpless. What can I do if he wakes up? This seems to be the question of the evening. What do I do when he catches me?

Lungs labored, palms sweating, I reach for my purse slowly. If I can just get to my cell phone…

The many bedazzled and loose decor hanging off the straps bounce against each other, jingling loudly through the concrete hall. It's quieter than the TV static, but loud enough the man continues to shift. I'm worried he's waking up. Feet trembling, I slowly step one foot into a shoe, then the other; my feet too ice cold with fear to notice the coolness of the fabric. As the man snuffles, I back against the wall, allowing it to brace me as I carefully unzip the purse. My body quakes with more fervor rounds of shakes. My pulse pounds in my ear, my mouth still sand dry. After what feels like an eternity, the purse is open. My hand slips into it, searching desperately. First all I feel are tubes of lip gloss and a small bottle of lotion, a sharp pencil and a wrapper or receipt of some sort. My wallet brushes my hand next, a couple bobby pins and crumbs. I was beginning to regret my femininity. Why did I have to carry so much in such a little bag? How did I ever find anything? One thing for sure, overstuffed purses were only good for one thing – finding everything you don't need, and nothing you do.

Something buzzed. I froze. There was silence. I looked at the man, his shuffling about was becoming nothing more but faint, drowsy twitches. There was another buzz. I looked around, it was coming from somewhere. Another buzz, this time I caught light in the corner of my eye. There, sitting on a small corner table, was my cell phone. Someone was texting me. I stared numbly at it. I try maintaining an optimistic attitude, but seeing it now, I realize I never really believed I could actually make it. There was now a way to call for help, and next to it, a way out.

Crudely built wood stairs led upwards to a thin door too small for the threshold. Light, sunlight, peeked around its edges. The faint yellow glow was like a beacon of hope, warming the ice that was encasing my heart. I'm going to make it.

I step around the TV, over its plug and cable cords, towards the end of the hall, towards the stair that'll let me free. It's not a long tread, the hall is fairly short. I make it to the corner table faster than I thought I would, the cell phone is in my hand before I even realize I've grabbed it. It buzzes. The vibration feels wonderful, like a reconnection to the world. I never want to let it go again. I open the screen to find several text messages and too many missed calls to fathom. I don't dare look at the date, it's hard enough being here, I don't want to know for how long I have been. I pull up the dial screen, my thumb hovers over the nine. I don't want to, but I hesitate. A sharp, cold feeling rushes through me. Something's wrong here.

I look back. The TV is still on the static channel and the metal chair is right where it was before. But something is missing. TV, chair, TV, Chair…My heart hammers my chest. Where's the man? I look around again, I glance to the room, I check the chair again, praying I'm imagining things. Where is he, where is he? A hot breath tickles my bare neck.

*(Author's Note: I had hoped to get deeper with this chapter, but I think I'll make you wonderful readers wait just a little longer. I'll need just a couple more days to make sure Chapter One Part Two is mind blowing enough to read. Thank you for reading!)


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